The Beast's lies
by Eorendel
Summary: A demon captures England, taking him to a heavenly place. His life is in danger. Can America and England's brothers be able to save him before is too late? Does England want to be saved? Dark themes. Gore in future chapters. Shounen-ai. AU.
1. Chapter 1

All great changes are preceded by chaos.

•••

The sky was not falling apart. The building was not on fire. The earth was not exploding. There were no guns pointed in his direction. Just silence, long dark faces - sad faces; troubled, nervous, and anxious. America felt as if he could not breathe. His hands were cold, and a hollow was formed in the middle of his chest. Pure and uncorrupted agony, he did not think such emotion could exist within himself.

The room he was in was full. Seven national entities of the world were present and many more were outside the room, filling the house. All gathered for the same reason. America thought that he could not breathe normally anymore, not with a knot squeezing tighter and tighter around his throat each passing second.

America couldn't cry. He was in no position to do it. He was not allowed to shed a single tear. Because, he was a nation; because he needed to be strong; because everything, was his fault.

'Oh God...' America thought and sighed deeply. He rubbed his eyes until he felt his eyes burn.

His gaze trailed to the person in front of him. Germany stood straight, close to the wall, opposite to him and next to the bed. A deep frown married his features, a tense air surrounded him. Beside him, Italy gave off a sense of gloom, sniffling lightly. Unlike America, Italy displayed his emotions without shame. America swiftly looked away, but the next person in his line of vision was not any better.

Switzerland's face showed the evidence of the lack of sleep taken by the days he had not slept since that thing occurred. The small blond noticed America staring and fixed his gaze on him.

America quickly looked the other way. He knew what the Swiss was going to ask him but, he did not know; he did not know anything, he did not know what to do.

Finally, America's baby blue eyes, his gaze, landed on the cause of his agony. The peaceful source of his sadness. His despair was shaped in the form of his former caretaker. His brother. His friend. Perhaps, it would have been better to realize about it sooner. He felt absolutely awful to think that, for him to realize that England was, indeed his friend, this accident, this catastrophe had to happen.

England laid on a white bed, surrounded by wires connected to his skin. Machines were beeping constantly. An oxygen mask was placed on his face. His eyes were closed and his beautiful emerald color could not be seen.

Switzerland spoke bluntly, "Let me run more tests on him." The blond moved closer to the bed.

America flinched slightly. "No." He answered in a deep voice.

"America, we may find was wrong with him if we only run more tests, you-"

America cut Switzerland's words. "I don't want you to make a guinea pig out of him."

"America, it's been a week and England doesn't wake up." Germany interjected, "You can no longer be obtuse about this matter. This is serious."

"…America, I think you should listen to them…" Canada spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, making himself noticeable by the others. But the attention span was short lived.

"England is getting weaker and weaker as we speak." Switzerland's tone was dark. "His life is in danger. At this rate he's going to-"

"What the fuck do you want me to say then?" America growled, standing from his seat, "I can't remember anything more! I only know what you know! I was driving, and he was beside me and we were talking and then, and then some jerk crashed with us! And then we were out of the road and… I-I only remember the river getting closer and-and everything went white…"

"America, it's okay." Canada tried to calm down his brother.

"No! It's not okay, Mattie! England, he's like this, it's my fault!" America walked around the room like a caged lion, "I should have paid more attention to the road! If I, I shouldn't have been teasing him! I failed-"

The tallest nation of all that were present stood in front America, blocking his path.

"America, that is enough." Russia was smiling while his voice was not. "Whether it was your fault or not isn't the problem here. The car-crash didn't leave England like this. We need to know what happened. We need to know if this can happen to us too."

"Like hell if you think I'm gonna let you touch him!" America glared darkly, shouting with rage. His face darkened and his muscles tensed. It was the look of a desperate man, a mad man.

Italy shivered in fear and hid behind Germany, Canada stepped back. Germany and Switzerland took a hold of their guns. Russia merely smiled even wider.

A few seconds passed and the door was opened loudly; France and Japan stepped in.

"I have the authorization from the UK, Amerique. Step aside please." France was uncharacteristically serious. He walked directly to England, ready to prepare him.

"What? I won't allow it!" America yelled.

"I'm afraid you don't have a say in this matter anymore, America-san. A collective petition was made and everyone agreed. We must find what is happening with England-san." Japan said in a business-like tone; however, his tone softened afterwards, "Please, America-san. Do not worry, we will take good care of England-san's health."

Japan was, is, England's friend after all.

But America felt scared. What were they going to do to England? What if something goes wrong during whatever test they plan to do? What if he can't see England anymore? With that turmoil of emotions, America leaped towards France. He grabbed France from his shirt, pulling him away from England.

"What?" France glared, "Are you trying to hurt the person who tries to help Angleterre?" He slapped America's hand away and resumed his work.

The other nations were uneasy, but impressed by France's cool. He too was very affected by this whole affair. Like Japan, he was trying to find the quickest solution for it.

America gritted his teeth.

"America, understand. This is necessary." Germany said earnestly.

America watched helplessly as England's bed was removed from the room. The big nation was powerless again. The room emptied leaving the American alone. He cursed loudly and punched the wall. Small pieces of concrete fell on the floor. Again and again he punched it, releasing little of his frustration away. His hand was probably bleeding. He did not care. He did not give a fuck!

He just wanted England to wake up! He just wanted to go back to normal! He just wanted their routine!

America stopped punching the wall, and his blood dripped from his hand and fingertips. Small droplets fell, staining the floor in red.

He just wanted, "…England…"

•••

A tray of medical instruments fell loudly on the floor. A series of French curses crossed the habitation. Upset shouts filled the room until France was too tired to even move. After the commotion, quiet voices talked among themselves.

"The tests aren't working. England-san's results are inconsistent." Japan said, sighing. "It is as if he is just asleep. Even though his vital signs are decreasing in an alarming speed."

"…As if his life was being drained slowly…" Austria presented his opinion.

Japan stayed silent, contemplating the theory.

"For the love of God! Don't say such ridiculous things!"

"We have done everything we could possibly do for these past four days and he doesn't show any changes." Switzerland walked to England, replacing an IV.

The four nations were in charge of running the tests and to keep track of England's progress. However, that progress had not appeared for two weeks. France, Japan, Switzerland and Austria had been working hard but there were little to none results.

"Maybe.., maybe we should take another blood test…" France said, playing with his hair frantically. He looked worn-out. All of them looked exhausted.

"We already did them, five times," Switzerland tossed an empty bag in the trash bin, hard enough to make Japan jump and Austria to move away, "The results show only that he has a light anemia. Besides that, he's perfectly okay."

"He is not okay." France hissed angrily.

"Do you think I don't know that?" Switzerland narrowed his eyes, "I was the first one to check on him and treat him."

The Swiss walked near a shelf.

"Yes, indeed; you, mon ami, were the first person to appear in the scene and help mon cher Angleterre. Tell me sincerely, did you really only gave Angleterre first-aid?"

The things in the shelf trembled as Switzerland kicked its base. "Bastard, are you insinuating something?" He turned around with a glare.

France crossed his arms and smiled mockingly, "Not at all, I'm just connecting dots in my head."

"Do you want to have something besides dots inside your head?" Switzerland's hand moved inside his coat.

"Guns aren't permitted in this place." France said daringly.

"It's sterilized, do you want to try it out?" Switzerland said dangerously.

"Gentleman, please, calm down." Austria said nervously. Being the pacifist wasn't his thing.

Japan was silent. He was still thinking about Austria's words. As if his life was being drained slowly…

The two blonds were still bickering in the background. And Japan suddenly spoke with a terse tone.

"Either Norway-san or Romania-san hadn't contacted us, have they…?"

The three other males remained in silence.

"No, in the north there has been a recent crisis. The Nordics can't come down now, not at least in a couple of days. And Romania seems to be with his own problems. Bulgaria said it was a natural disaster that has been holding him back from coming." Austria informed.

"…I see…" Japan said.

"Why? Do you think they have something to do with this?" France said, with a strange combination of relief, hope and anger.

Japan stared at him, "No. I'm sorry. I just thought that they might have been of help. That's all…"

The familiar sounds of the machines lulled them. The faint scent of blood floated in the air, mixing with chemicals and other odors.

"We can't do anything for now. We should move him to a fitting room and rest as well." Austria said.

"Yeah, besides America has been unbearable lately." Switzerland moved away from France, helping Austria with England.

The French man was quiet, silently looking at his enemy, or friend? Frenemy? The youngsters' terms came in handy sometimes.

"France-san, you should take a bit of a rest." Japan said walking up to him. "America-san will make sure to take guard and keep England-san safe."

A sad smile appeared in the corner of the Frenchman's mouth, "I know."

•••

"America, I think we shouldn't do this!" Canada tried to yell and be quiet at the same time.

"Why not? Those old men couldn't find anything wrong with England so it's in my hands to save him!" America held England carefully, close to his chest. It was difficult since England was not as small as he seemed but with America's strength it was not a big problem.

Canada was there carrying the oxygen closely, behind America. They went up to the rooftop. It was past midnight and everyone was fast asleep - even the ones who were usually on guard were absent.

America had made sure to have Italy and Liechtenstein on his side. They were his backup with the guards. Germany and Switzerland would not be happy at all if they found out about it. Italy and Liech were informed about his plan.

"Tony must have a solution! He'll sure help us out!" America said when they reached the last floor.

"You have too much faith in him." Canada muttered.

Even though he was partially, absolutely, scared of the consequences of the thing they were doing, he couldn't help but to feel a little bit of hope. Who knows, maybe with alien technology England could be cured.

They reached the rooftop and walked to the center of the roof. A few moments passed and suddenly a white light appeared above their heads; after that, a ray descended on them, and some unknown force pulled them towards the spaceship.

America, Canada and England were in a dark-green place with many machines, machines and wires everywhere. A door opened and a grey being with enormous black eyes entered the room. Canada shivered. No matter how much time passed, he still could not stay calm around America's friend.

The talk between the American and the alien was short, being the fact that the alien only knew two words or the fact that America was being demanding.

America placed England carefully on a table, removed the oxygen mask and waited for Tony to do his job.

Seven minutes and forty seconds later, Tony informed America that he could not do anything about England. He told him that nothing was wrong with him and that he was just sleeping.

America was not happy in the slightest.

Tony left them where he picked them up saying his goodbyes, which consisted in the repetition of the words; fucking bitch fucking, fucking fucking bitch bitch fucking…

"I am sorry, America, that I could not be of much help. I hope everything turns out fine. My regards to your friends, later," America translated for Canada.

England wore the oxygen mask again, Canada walked quietly behind America while he held England tight against his chest. The night was dark, the moonlight had abandoned them; their path was filled with a deafening silence.

During the time England was away from him. America felt something always hurting his chest, something invisible squeezing his insides. Now, that feeling felt tenth times worse and it was deadly.

The feelings filling his heart were murderers.

•••

"Ve~ it's so sad. I haven't seen America like this before… It's so sad, so very sad…" Italy said, obviously peeking inside the room where England and America were.

"Stop it. It's rude to peep into others' rooms." Germany scolded him and pulled him away from the door.

They walked for a few moments until Italy asked, "Would you be sad if it was me?"

Germany froze and hid the cold shiver that ran down on his spine when he thought about it.

Italy wanted his answer, "Tell me, if it was me who was dying-"

"Stop!" Germany barked and Italy went rigid. "Don't say anything else. Don't you dare to ask me that again, understood?" His tone was absolutely terrifying.

"Y-Yes!" Italy stuttered.

Germany began to walk again and Italy followed.

The awkward atmosphere was still with them. Germany sighed, defeated. "Italy, I'm sorry for yelling at you. But understand, it's a painful question you asked me."

Italy looked up at him, "Painful… you mean…"

"Yes, I'll be very…, very sad if something happened to you… I don't know what I'd do if that happened." Germany's anguish was clear in his words.

"Wow, Germany doesn't know?" Italy was surprised. Germany knew a lot of things. Almost everything. It was shocking to know about something he did not know. He gave little, if not any, importance at the painful ache in his heart.

Germany was too busy archiving new feelings in his brain to notice a stranger walking pass them and directing his path to England's room.

America wasn't there.

A sandy blond went in and sat on the edge of England's bed. He took England's hand in his own and kissed the back of it. He trailed his hand over England's arm until his palm was resting on the middle of England's chest. He narrowed his eyes.

A scream startled the blond and turned around to see America in the doorway looking extremely upset.

"Yo, America. Long time no see." The man smiled, "That's how it goes right?"

"What are you doing here?" America spat angrily.

"I'm here to see my brother, isn't obvious?" The sandy blond replied, removing his hand from England's chest, but he still held his hand.

"Wales? What are you doing here?" France asked beside America. With his scream, the entire house was alerted.

"Like I said, I'm here for my brother." Wales replied again.

"Don't you think is a bit late? It's been three fucking weeks since the accident!" America growled.

"Busy life, busy-busy." Wales shrugged.

America clenched his teeth. "Jerkass." He walked towards Wales.

"I know why brother can't wake up." He said good-naturedly.

America and all the nations present in the doorway froze at those words.

"This was-" Wales caressed England's face, trailing a thumb along his cheek, "-made by an enemy."

"By who?" Everyone was shocked, confused but more than ready to hear about it.

Wales let go of England and turned to them with a smile. "A demon."

•To Be Continued•

Darkness is close, getting closer and closer to us.


	2. Chapter 2

−_He'll be in a dream… In a beautiful dream. He'll be tempted. If brother gets deeper in that dream, it'll be easier for the demon to get him. He'll see everything he needs. Everything he wants. If he accepts his deal, that reality… there's no turning back._

−_That is… just nonsense!_

−_I don't care what you think. This is real._

_This is happening._

•••

God grant me the serenity  
>to accept the things I cannot change;<br>courage to change the things I can;  
>and wisdom to know the difference.<p>

Living one day at a time;  
>Enjoying one moment at a time;<br>Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;  
>Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;<br>Trusting that He will make all things right  
>if I surrender to His Will;<p>

That I may be reasonably happy in this life  
>and supremely happy with Him<br>Forever in the next.  
>Amen.<p>

•••

He was floating away like a leaf carried by a soft breeze. He felt so light; so ethereal and unreal. There was silence and quiet. Absolute serenity surrounded him.

He felt as if he was within a warm embrace, lovely and warm.

_It felt so nice._

He wished he could stay like this forever.

•••

Soft words were whispered into his ear. A big, cold hand caressed his cheek gently, a thumb rubbing over his cheekbone.

"Arthur, wake up."

His human name was called with such affection that his heart could not help but to jump. Who was it? Who was calling out to him? Who was murmuring sweet words? Who was brushing cold lips against his own?

"My dear, wake up so I can take a look at your eyes."

'_This man's voice is so honest,_' England thought, his brow furrowed slightly. He liked his voice.

England's body felt stiff, as if he had been in a long slumber.

Slowly, his eyes opened. At first, his vision was blurry. His eyes deceived him with the ghastly vision of a dark shadow looming over him, and a pair of wings dripping blood on the back of a man with cold, black eyes.

England blinked rapidly. The senses of his body finally came back to him. He moved and his right hand was caught by a strong hold. England focused on the man next to him.

He was smiling. He brought England's hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"Good morning, my dear Arthur."

_His smile was so honest._

•••

"Do I know him? I think I have seen him before, but where?" England mused aloud, recalling something he could not quite place. He looked around absentmindedly. He was, once again, amazed by the view.

He was in a gorgeous-looking garden, sitting on a lovely wooden carved chair. Rosebushes, his national roses, were perfectly cared for and organized all along. There was not a single withered petal or leaf out of place in the row of plants. The garden was immense and England did not know where it ended, or if it ended at all.

The man came back with silverware, an impressive set of cups and the delicious smell of tea. He smiled kindly and poured tea for England. He served pastries and sat in front of him.

Hospitality, ten points, England noted.

England sipped his tea.

"Is it of your taste?" The man's smile widened, as if the mere sight of England drinking was breathtaking. "Do you like it?"

England put his cup down gently. "Yes, very much."

If it was possible, the man's smile grew even wider. "I'm glad," he said, sipping from his own cup.

England answered curtly because he wasn't going to praise the _wonderful _tea of a complete stranger. It was the best tea he had ever had, he had to admit.

A soft breeze carried the scent of the roses. England looked up and saw the peculiar color of the sky. Beyond the clouds, a blazing orange color smeared through the firmament. That color could only be seen in the sunsets. England frowned and his gaze trailed to the man.

"Who are you?" England asked frankly.

The man did not cease smiling. "You can call me whatever you like, my dear Arthur."

"I didn't ask that. Do I know you?" England said. His gaze was hard.

"Yes, we have met before, although _briefly_." The man closed his eyes to smile this time and England caught a glimpse of something he could not understand.

Faintly, he could feel a warning, a signal of danger crawling on the back of his head. An indication to run away. But for some reason he could not follow on it. He could not obey.

"Where am I?" England asked instead. He opted for more questions to get more information besides his name, since he seemed to be… rather evasive with it.

The man exclaimed, "You are in your paradise!"

"Comedian, I see," England said with a raised eyebrow.

The man laughed pleasantly, "Where are my manners? I shall prove it to you then." The man stood, walked to England's side and stretched out his hand. "May I take your hand?"

England was ready to retort with a harsh refusal. But something in his smile stopped, crippled, shredded and tore away any will to say no. It was a sunny smile, a cheerful smile. How could he have not noticed it before?

His body moved of its own accord. His hand was taken by a big, cold hand.

The man guided him inside the house.

"_Alfred_," England whispered.

"I'm sorry?" The man turned to him, looking at him closely.

"I want to call you…" England hesitated. "I want to call you Alfred…"

The man grinned. "Okay! My name shall be Alfred from now on!"

_Alfred_ turned around and planted a kiss on England's cheek. He squeezed his hand and pulled for him to follow.

England's heart ached when he saw those baby-blue eyes.

•••

O God,  
>Who knowest us to be set in the midst of such great perils, that,<br>by reason of the weakness of our nature, we cannot stand upright, grant us such health of mind and body,  
>that those evils which we suffer for our sins we may overcome through Thine assistance.<p>

Through Christ our Lord.  
>Amen.<p>

•••

The door opened and a white light blinded him. England covered his face with his hand. A few moments passed and he heard Alfred calling for him.

"Arthur, look! Isn't it beautiful?"

England opened his eyes carefully and saw a deep blue ocean below. He looked down at his feet and saw a cliff. He stumbled back, fully aware of the deadly precipice. Confused, he turned around, but the door from where they came through had disappeared into thin air.

Alfred pulled his hand. "Over here, I know a great place!"

"Is this magic?" England asked hopefully.

"Of course it is, silly! How else could it have been made?" Alfred smiled that bright smile reassuringly. However, the uneasiness in England's heart did not fade away.

They walked down a path, Alfred holding England's hand all the way. England, in the meantime, looked at the beautiful ocean. The tide was breaking on the shore. They reached the white sand. Alfred said eagerly to England that he should take off his shoes. They walked on the sand for a while. England was captivated by the blue of the ocean. From the corner of his eye, he saw a ship moving smoothly through the water. It was a beautiful vessel. England stood still, watching as the ship sailed away.

Alfred hugged him from behind, wrapping his arms around his chest and nestling his chin on England's shoulder. "That could be yours," he said, kissing England's neck.

"…Really?" England asked. He felt sad for some reason.

"Yup," Alfred said.

"How?" England turned to him with a frown and Alfred suddenly let go of him.

"Oh right! Look what I found, Arthur!" Alfred said happily. He put something on England's palm.

England examined it. "It's a pretty shell. It looks like a heart."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, it's lovely."

"Then you can keep it! It'll be my gift to you!" Alfred said eagerly.

England looked at his palm again. He heard Alfred gasp.

"Arthur! You smiled!" A wide grin appeared on Alfred's face.

England scowled, "I did not."

"Yes, you did! I saw you! You have a gorgeous smile! Please smile for me again?" Alfred wrapped his arms around England and pulled him closer.

"What? No," England said, embarrassed, and looked away.

"Oh, come on! A tiny smile? Just a bit, please?" Alfred looked at England pleadingly.

"I can't. I-" Before he could answer, England was pulled off his feet. England was surprised when Alfred started to spin them both. Alfred kept saying how he knew Arthur could smile and so on, until he got a smile and a laugh.

Satisfied, Alfred said, "This way, my dear, I bet you're hungry!" He grinned.

He began to walk and Arthur was about to follow when he saw something shining on the sand.

"Oh wait, you dropped this." England bent down and picked up a pair of glasses.

Alfred turned around. "Oh thanks, I can't see anything without them." He grinned and resumed his walk.

England frowned, "Wait, were you wearing them before?" England was confused; he did not remember him wearing glasses.

Alfred turned, smiling. "Hahaha, don't be silly! Of course I've been wearing 'em! C'mon, I know you're hungry and I'm starving!"

He pulled England to follow. Shortly after they left the beach, something in the seashore appeared. One by one, pieces of the ship England saw floated into the sand.

The sails and the wood were burned.

•••

_True demons are those who wear a mask of beauty.  
><em>_Those who look like angels.  
>Those who are angels.<em>

•••

There were just instants through the transition of the change of space. Alfred took the handle, pulling England after him. In a blink of the eye, the scenery changed.

"I can't believe we used a door to get back here," England said, looking at the door behind him. It looked just like a normal door. They were back to the house they were at before.

"I told you," Alfred chuckled darkly. "It's magic." He smiled.

•••

"What's so good about watching me eat?" England glared.

Alfred smiled behind the counter of the kitchen, tilting lightly his head to the side. "Everything," he said. "When I see you, I see everything."

"Is that so…" England said vaguely.

"Yes," Alfred said firmly.

He walked to England's side and crouched down next to him. "Would you mind staying here for a while?" He took England's hands and squeezed them.

"Huh?" England said, puzzled.

"I planned a surprise for you. Would you mind staying here alone for a while?" Alfred said sweetly.

England was quiet for a moment. "…It's okay, I suppose?"

"Great!" Alfred stood. "I'll be back shortly." He walked to the main door. "Just lock the doors, don't open them and talk to anyone, okay?"

"I understand. I'm not a kid," England said, a bit annoyed by the warning.

"I know you aren't." Alfred half smiled. "Bye."

•••

_Tick − tack, Tick − tack, Tick − tack, Tick – tack, −_ tock −

"I'm not crazy. Alright? That shit is weird!" England said to himself. "This bloody clock is driving me insane! And why the bloody hell am I talking aloud?"

England, for the past seven minutes, had walked around the living room, appreciating the paintings on the walls. Firstly, he didn't notice the clock until he was walking in front of it. But when he did, he heard it. It wasn't a pattern like a normal clock should have. The clock just randomly would sound different, at different moments.

Three minutes ago it sounded different. Five, one, and two minutes ago sounded different too. It was as if the clock was mocking him. His hands itched; he wanted to disassemble that thing and fix it.

But it was not his clock, so he could not do anything. A pity.

_Tick − tack, Tick − tack, Tick −_ tock − _tack, Tick – tack −_

"There it is!" England pointed an accusing finger at the clock.

_Tick − tack, Tick – tack −_ tock, _Tick −_ tock − _tack, Tick – tack −_ tock−

England was about to break the clock when he caught sight of something on the window. He turned around. He saw a blurry shadow. Its shape was glued to the right corner of the window.

England squinted to get a better look, but the shadow's form did not become clearer. Hoping he could have a better view, England moved forward, closer.

A pair of bloodshot eyes sprung from within the shadow's core and stared directly at England, who stopped walking immediately. White clenched teeth appeared from the shadow and then suddenly opened them, letting a high shriek resound through the glass. England stumbled back, terrified. He almost lost his balance the instant he took his eyes off the shadow.

His heart was drumming in his chest. He looked at the window again, but the thing was no longer there.

"What the fuck was that?" he cursed, trying to get his heart rate under control. He breathed slowly, glancing everywhere.

The only sound was the clock's ticking.

He was stiff in his spot in the middle of the room, just hearing his heartbeat and the ticking clock. England finally moved in favor of a glass of water.

He walked to the kitchen. He took a glass and poured some water. He gulped it and took some more, when he heard the faint screech of a door opening. England turned around slowly. He saw the kitchen's door open.

The door was closed two seconds ago. He made sure of it. But now, it was open wide.

_It's no time for panic_, England thought, setting the glass down carefully. He walked to the door, taking the handle and closing it with its lock.

Okay, the door was locked. Now what should−

England turned around swiftly as he heard heavy steps in the hallway. His throat closed tightly, and he began to sweat. His hands were cold.

He moved quietly to the right to have a better look of the hallway. There was nothing there. He moved forward a little. He was in the middle of the kitchen when _BAM!_

England ran away from the kitchen, not caring if the door was open again. He wanted to get away. He wanted to get far away from whatever that thing was. He was on the second floor and opened the first door he could find. He checked quickly if there was anything in the room and when he was somewhat sure about it, he closed the door. He moved a drawer, barricading the door. He panted lightly, but either way began to search for more things to lock himself up in the room.

When he couldn't find anything else, he breathed a bit calmer than before.

But before he could sort things out, heavy steps started getting closer.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

It stopped in front of his door.

England held his breath.

The knob in the door was turned once without much force. England tensed. The knob was forced again, this time with power. It was locked. It wouldn't budge. However, the knob and the door began to shudder violently when whoever was on the other side didn't give up. The door was slammed and punched again and again.

England's worst fear came true when the knob broke.

England moved away from the door in terror when his barricade began to be shoved away from the door.

He needed to hide.

He looked around frantically and ran into the closet. Sadly, the closet did not have a lock.

England listened as the things he had set as a barricade were thrown onto the floor and kicked aside. England pushed his back into the far corner of the small division of room.

Thud.

_Thud._

**Thud.**

The steps stopped right in front of the closet's door.

"_Arthur_," a grotesque voice grunted. The door was torn open and England's blood ran cold.

England shut his eyes tight, not daring to see anymore. He shielded his head with his arms. He could not see, but he certainly could feel it. The thing was in front of him. It was watching him. It was watching him with those bloodshot lifeless eyes.

"_Arthur_." Its voice was sickening and it talked right into his ear.

England swore as he felt a cold tongue on the back of his arm.

But it suddenly stopped. England weakly felt as the thing retreated. The heavy steps sounded again, but were going away.

He did not dare to open his eyes just yet. He was shivering. His body trembled from the earlier shock.

Steps were getting near again. He shut his eyes tighter.

"Arthur?" Alfred called. "Arthur, where are you?"

He entered the room, looking perplexed at the mess . He searched for Arthur and spotted the closet's half-broken door.

"Arthur?" he called again. Looking inside, he saw England in a corner, shaking. "Arthur? What's wrong? What happened?"

Alfred went inside.

He touched England's arm, who froze immediately. "Arthur, it's me. Alfred. It's okay, look at me."

Alfred used a bit of strength to bring England closer to him.

"Arthur, look at me. It's me, I am Alfred," he said softly, _delightfully_.

Slowly, England opened his eyes. He saw him; baby-blue eyes, glasses and blond hair. He wore that confident grin, that cheerful expression… He was Alfred.

"It's okay, I'm here." Alfred embraced England forcefully against his chest. "I'll protect you. Won't you stay with me? I won't let anything happen to you. I won't leave you alone anymore. I'll never leave you alone again."

Alfred kissed England's cheek endlessly. "I'll be by your side forever. I'll love you for all eternity. I love you. I'll be yours alone. And you'll be mine. Yes, _mine_. Mine. Mine. Mine. Only _my_ eternal love. You'll be _only_ for me. Won't you say yes? Of course you are saying yes. I love you, Arthur."

England's eyes were dry of tears. "Have you been always blond?" he asked with glazed eyes. He felt exhausted. So, so tired…

"Hahaha, silly you. Of course! I am blond and I am your Alfred." Alfred's eyes glinted in the darkness of the room. "I am your Alfred and you are _my Arthur_."

•••

God of mercy,  
>you know the secrets of all human hearts,<br>for you know who is just and you forgive the repentant sinner.  
>Hear my prayer in the midst of destruction;<br>give me patience and hope,  
>so that under your protection and with you as my guide,<br>I may one day be reunited with my family and friends in peace,  
>tranquility,<br>and love.

•To Be Continued•

_Remember, someone out there is always fighting for you…_


	3. Chapter 3

A sad memory isn't sad when you remember it in times of joy.  
>A happy memory isn't happy when you remember it in bad times.<br>A happy memory in bad times is just like demise.

•••

Magic was something England had always talked about with him when he was a kid; about fairies, unicorns and magical creatures living in a cheerful and ideal world, a world where the happiness was the norm. Magic, was something only England could see. Magic, was something America couldn't use.

Magic, was killing England.

Magic was something beyond of America's control.

That was why he did not like it. He was powerless against something he could not touch, he could not see or feel.

Rain had been falling incessantly since the evening. Raindrops fell on the glass of the window at his right.

England was barely breathing, the lullaby of the machines by his side constantly reminding him. England was dying before his eyes and he could not do anything about it. America was seated on a chair besides England's bed, holding his head between his hands.

Every single country was stressed, all of them hardly concealing their worries. America had bags under his eyes. He had not left England's side since Wales came two days ago. England's big brother was not there; he said he needed some business to take care of. America let go of his head and gripped the sheet of the bed. What could be more important than his own family? _Nothing_. Nothing was more important than that.

He was alone with England in the room.

Germany took Italy for a walk since the susceptible Italian couldn't bear the tension in the house. America was grateful though. In the past few weeks all the nations... no, friends, family had given support. At least, with that, he didn't feel so alone.

France, although having a rocky relationship with the Brit, had been devoted to England's situation. People who had not been in good terms with England had showed concern, traveling across long distances to show their support.

It was a bitter thought.

Only when bad things happened, people joined together to move on in the same direction as one.

America rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, more mentally than physically. His gaze fell on England's pale face. America took England's hand, rubbing his thumb at the back of it softly, taking care to not touch the needle of the IV that was inserted in the canal of the vein on his hand. Before, in the time of his independency, he realized how much he changed. When he was little, England was big, tough but as the years passed he became strong.

He was now taller… and stronger… so strong… so strong that almost no one could defy him.

If he was so strong, why was he unable to protect England? England's hand was cold. His heartbeats were slow and scarce. America began to shake. He let go of England's hand, he clenched his hand.

_Ahh, how much he hated this. Hated it all. Hate. Hate. Hate._

He was angry. He wanted to blame someone. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to kill whoever did this. He wanted to pour his rage in whoever had hurt England. He wanted to strangulate the culprit, see as his eyes clouded with despair and death.

Smoke filled the room, snapping America out of his thoughts. He turned around.

A red haired man was leaning at the doorframe smoking a cigarette. His dark green eyes pierced through his soul. America felt as if he was like an open book. Like an insignificant insect. Like a vulnerable and petty bother. All of it passed through his being with just one look. The man puffed a long line of white smoke and tore his eyes away from America. The blond let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

The man smiled perversely and walked inside. "Maybe there is still some hope for someone like you, _Yankee_."

America was about to retort and ask what he meant with that but kept his mouth shut. However, the name of the person did escape his lips in a whisper when he got too close to England, "Scotland, what…?"

The red haired man didn't pay attention to him and went straight to his little brother's side. He leaned, climbing on the bed. He touched England's cheek with his gloved hand.

His expression was unreadable.

Without prior notice he began to disconnect England's IVs, _not_ so gently.

America reacted. "What the hell are you doing?"

Scotland, barely glanced at him as the tubes and needles were unplugged and, in a second, the sensors of his vitals were ripped away. Finally, England's mask was off and America panicked. That was the only thing that was keeping England breathing!

America moved so fast that even Scotland was surprised when his forearm was caught in an iron grip. However, that momentary shock was replaced with annoyance.

"_Let go, now_," he hissed. However, before America could say anything, Scotland had already slapped his hand away. He took England into his arms. America was not going to let him do as he pleased. As if Scotland could read his thoughts, he growled darkly, "Don't you dare to touch me, _brat_."

There was a really short list; okay, it was a long list, of things that scared America, but definitely England's big brother was one of the top five. But he couldn't let him handle England like that! What was his problem in first place?

"Do you need help, brother?" Wales said.

America turned to see him leaning at the doorframe, just like his brother did.

"Don't be a pest." Scotland said tactlessly, adjusting his, fairly big, little brother in his arms.

Wales was not bothered. "Ireland prepared the place already," he said, letting his brother pass.

"Wait! What the hell is going on?" America yelled frantically.

Wales looked at him with mild sympathy; Scotland didn't give a damn and walked away.

When the red head was out of ear-shot, Wales said to America quite nonchalantly, "We are going to save brother."

•••

Wales entered first in the room; it was the basement of the house. America followed uneasily; he didn't like dark and scary places. The place where they were going in looked exactly like the worst of his nightmares.

There was no electric light. There were no windows. It was cold and humid. The only light provided in the place were several candles lined along the floor and some on shelves hanging on the walls, but most of the candles were shaped in the form of skulls; some of them black. America did not want to know what was in the table next to him - bottles with floating murky stuff inside weren't appealing to his eyes.

In the middle of the room a huge circle with strange words was drawn on the floor by Ireland, he was muttering something unintelligible.

Ireland finished the circle. "It's done." He rose from the floor and stared at Scotland who still had England held very closely to his chest.

Ireland smiled maliciously, "Sweet memories, huh? Big brother." Scotland glared and Wales snickered. America was confused.

"Let's end this shit." Scotland spat, walking to the centre of the circle. Wales moved to the opposite site where Ireland stood.

"You, brainless bloke, come here," Scotland said contemptuously.

America was confused and looked at Wales for answers, who looked annoyed. These brothers were really something! America's rational side thought.

"We need you to help brother when the thing appears in that side and… urgh, fucking hell just get in the damn circle! Brother doesn't have much time left!" Wales, Ireland and Scotland glared daggers at America's direction. And certainly, Wales' words were like if they were spoken from all of them.

America could not do much but follow.

When he was in front of England and Scotland, Wales and Ireland began to chant something. The lines of the chalk on the floor began to glow, the atmosphere of the room grew cold, an eerie silence settling. But something else happened. Something… was there with them.

Okay, he could not freak out now.

"Close your eyes and don't move if you don't want to lose an arm." Scotland said, bored.

America shut his eyes immediately. Just as his eyelids closed, something cold passed near his ear. A cold thing grazed his skin, but he did not move. He could not move, either from the sheer fear or from Scotland's warning.

The voices of Wales and Ireland grew louder and the thing that was with them as well. America could not see, but he heard how the walls were kicked, how the door was slammed with anger, and he heard how the table with all the bottles crashed on the floor.

Suddenly in a moment, Scotland pronounced some words and everything went quiet.

Scotland ordered him to open his eyes.

Then reality lost all meaning before his eyes.

•••

The air was cold. It hurt to breathe. The earth was dry. Everything was without life. The sky was tinted in a red color with stormy clouds. The plants were withered and its roots rotten. Although there was no one beside them, something sinister was lurking around. He could feel eyes watching them from all directions.

"Shoot there." Scotland's voice broke through his thoughts.

America was confused. Scotland irritatedly pointed at his jacket. America quickly searched through it and found a gun. How did that…? He had not had his gun since the accident, why was…?

"Shoot, now." Scotland said harshly, pointing at a big root on the ground. America didn't want Scotland's anger to explode, so he aimed. In that instant, a high-pitched voice began to resonate and a shapeless black form appeared where America was aiming. America's heart almost stopped. That feral thing was looking at him with bloodshot eyes. Sharp teeth protruded from within its surface, it shrieked and sprung in their direction.

"Shoot!"

America pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced all the way through it. Its form slowly vanished into the air. That, however, did not calm America's frantic heartbeats.

"What the fuck was that?" America's face was pale.

"Those are the things you are going to kill. Though, you should save ammo since those things are probably endless and we haven't found the brat yet." Scotland said and very indifferently unsheathed a sword that was hanging from his hip.

America checked his gun. He had only five bullets left. "You could have told me before! You have a damn sword!" Scotland could have gotten rid of that thing before, couldn't he?

Scotland chuckled darkly, "I wanted to see if you could shoot."

America felt bothered and wished to say a couple of well deserved insults to the older nation but refrained himself from doing so. They were in an unknown place and Scotland was the only one who knew where they were going. Maybe. America could only silently follow Scotland.

More of the things appeared through their journey. But for some reason they stayed away from their path. Scotland held the sword ahead of them. The monsters, as America aptly named, seemed afraid of the sword. Although America was absolutely terrified by the whole deal there, he was curious. He stared intently at the sword and frowned. Had he seen it before?

Scotland felt the stare. "What?"

"Um, I think that I've seen that sword before… somewhere." America laughed awkwardly.

Scotland didn't change of expression. "Probably in England's house, or, in an old legend book."

"…I see…" That wasn't of much help. There were thousands of books with swords and… wait, could it be…?

"At least that brat is good in taking care of things." Scotland said, unbiased. "The King would have been pleased with it."

Before America could come up with a conclusion, a house appeared in the distance. In just a second, he was speechless, his heart drowned in sadness. It looked like the house where England and he had lived in when he was young. Its structure was in ruins. The walls were dark with dust and fungi, the glass of the windows were covered in spider webs. The wood was burnt and old. The house seemed uninhabitable.

America suddenly stopped walking. That house brought memories. Many happy memories that were lethal to him. The happy times are the worst to remember. His resolution wavered. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get away from that scary place. And the worst was that he wanted to be with England.

Scotland tilted his face lightly to his direction when he noticed his apprehension.

"Coward." Scotland stated flatly.

That shook America's being. He wasn't a coward! He was a hero!

He glared at Scotland.

"If you don't want me to say that then prove it… I saw it, you know," Scotland turned around with a dark smirk, "I saw the thirst of blood in your eyes. I know you want to kill the thing that is taking England away… I know you want to watch it suffer..."

America did not affirm or deny that statement, he just stared at Scotland, gripping his gun tightly.

Scotland walked closer to the other male, suddenly lifting the edge of the sword close to America's face. The blade shone brightly. "I'll rip him apart…" Scotland's whispered, his smirk growing. He laughed madly. "I'll be getting his head!"

•To Be Continued•


	4. Chapter 4

When you look up, do you see the blue sky of what might be, or the darkness of what will never be?

Do you see me?

•••

Scotland pulled a bottle from his breast pocket. He gulped some of its contents, tossing it aside. The bottle landed a few feet away from them. The liquid inside spilled, quickly vaporizing into the air or simply absorbed by the ground.

They were standing outside the front door of the house, waiting. Just waiting for something, for someone. The air grew cold and the number of creatures increased. There was a change in the atmosphere. A heavy step sounded in the stillness of the place. Scotland smiled in a sinister way, while America could only grip his gun tight to keep himself calm. The steps sounded heavier and heavier until the front door was slammed open.

Pieces of wood flew towards America and Scotland's direction. They jumped away to avoid them. The creatures shrieked intensely crying in terror. They did not dare to stay near the front door. Slowly, a man with blond hair and blue eyes made himself visible. America was stunned - that man looked just like him when he was younger. He wore the same clothes he used to, and was smiling the same way he used to…

"_Brat_, use the brain that who knows who gave it to you, and do what I told you." Scotland said without tearing his eyes away from America's doppelgänger.

America clenched his teeth but nodded nonetheless.

"Say, could you turn into your true form? That way I'll have the pleasure to see your real face twisting in pain when I wrench your guts out." Scotland smiled widely.

"I don't receive orders from the likes of you." Alfred tilted his head to the side. "The only one who can command me is _my_ Arthur." America's double smiled.

Scotland narrowed his eyes. "Don't use my brother's name so casually," he said menacingly.

"I can," Alfred grinned deviously. "He gave me a name. He's so sweet. He has a very frail heart, and so pure." Alfred brought his hand to his face, covering the widening grin morphing his face. "He's perfect for me." His blue eyes were cold.

"Son of a bitch!" America shot his gun at Alfred without a second thought, with just pure hate and anger. The bullet went right into his skull.

There was silence. A cold, ominous silence.

Alfred coughed up some blood, staining the white shirt he was using, not even swaying. The hole in his forehead began to close. He inspected his clothes nonchalantly, tasting the blood in his mouth.

"Oh, lovely. Now, I'll have a headache for the rest of the day, thanks to you." Alfred said, stretching his arms and smirking at America.

America was both infuriated and shocked.

Scotland scowled at America, "Didn't I tell you that he's my prey?" He took his stance, holding his sword. In a split of second he attacked Alfred with a sharp strike. Alfred's arm fell on the ground, detaching completely from his shoulder. It was a clean cut. A frightening and powerful attack.

The dry earth quickly drank the red liquid falling from the wound.

Alfred slowly moved away, inspecting the damage with curiosity. "Wow, that was a sweet move. I can't believe you actually cut it off. You do have a little experience in battle, don't you?"

Scotland half-smiled, "I can't believe you have the nerve to mock me. I'll make your death slow and painful." With a single swing Scotland wiped the blood from his blade.

Alfred did not seem bothered by the comment. "Heh, well, I plan to kill you both as fast as I can. After all, I don't want my Arthur to feel alone."

"He's not fucking yours!" Scotland attacked again, forcing Alfred to move away from the entrance of the house. America understood and ran into the house.

Alfred looked as America disappeared inside the darkness of the house with a frown.

"What?" Scotland smirked. "Are you finally grasping the situation you are in?" Scotland gripped his sword, stomping the ground and taking a stance.

"…No," Alfred said softly. "It's not that…" He cracked his neck to the right and hung his head to Scotland's direction with lifeless eyes. "It's just that… Arthur _woke_ up."

Alfred's bones began to crack. He hunched his shoulders forward. He hissed and grunted in pain. His hair began to dye itself black from its roots. His glasses fell onto the ground, his shirt was ripped off when his torso enlarged, in several places his skin was torn apart, his red muscles and white bones could be seen. Behind his back two large bones protruded while flesh crawled from his back to the larger bones. All of it gave a rain of blood that fell over the thirsty ground.

Scotland decided to take distance from him and watched with aversion as he groaned with pleasure.

A black scaled tail waved back and forth. Alfred now was two times bigger. A pair of horns was adorning his head and his baby-blue eyes were now completely black. "The wings are the best part."

"You're sick." Scotland almost laughed.

Alfred smiled, showing his fangs, "All of us are."

•••

What makes a hero? Courage, strength, morality, withstanding adversity? Are these the traits that truly show and create a hero? Is the light truly the source of darkness or vice versa? Is the soul a source of hope or despair? Who are these so called heroes and where do they come from? Are their origins in obscurity or in plain sight?

•••

America searched through the place quickly. Those creatures were getting inside too. He needed to find England. What after that? That was the tricky part. Scotland just told him: _bring my stupid brother back to his senses... Ah, right. You can't touch him. What are you looking at? Sod off!_

And that was pretty much all the directions he was given. Ahh, how he yearned for England's endless rants and complicated instructions about how to do things. The first floor was clear - everything had dust, and most of the place was in ruins. He climbed to the second floor with long strides. The monsters were accumulating. But they seemed afraid to get inside. As if they were not permitted to be there. Perhaps, those creatures were_ not _that guy's friends like Alfred had thought.

But that was not important.

He needed to find England. The noise outside was not reassuring.

"Fuck!" America cursed. So many things were passing through his head. Feelings he wanted to forget - sadness, nostalgia, affection for the memory of that house. Ideas he would rather not think - what if England was… No, he refused to think that. Scotland said England was there! He must be there! "England!" He shouted finally.

"England, where are you?" He was losing hope. What if the demon had hidden England somewhere else? What if it was a trap? What if- "England!"

He opened the last door. And his soul found relief. And immense peace and then panic, anxiety, fear… and despair.

"England?" America whispered.

There was no response.

•••

Scotland wiped blood from his mouth. Alfred grinned, slamming his tail on the ground excitedly. The force of the impact tore pieces of the arid earth; fissures and cracks moved in various directions. They watched each other's moves. Scotland moved his jaw and his bones cracked.

"_Fuck._" Scotland hissed.

Alfred grinned. "Kishishi~ you like it?"

Scotland leaped forward. Alfred, expecting it, gave a sharp blow. Scotland skipped in the last moment, twisting his body to the left. The inertia of this movement provided him with a free opening over Alfred's torso. More than the tip of his sword slashed Alfred's middle, the edge of the blade cutting through his skin and flesh. Scotland jumped away but Alfred's tail moved in a straight line, hitting his stomach hard. He stumbled backwards, gasping for air.

They stared at each other. The blood spilt on the ground made a small pond. Alfred seemed to not mind the cascade of red liquid gushing out from his body.

Alfred stretched his arms and neck, "…_Maybe_, we ought to find a non-violent solution to this problem…"

They stayed in silence for a second.

They both laughed maniacally afterwards.

"You are a funny lad! You really are…" Scotland smiled, "Gives me the pleasure to see you die."

Scotland attacked again. He swung his sword with precise movements, always aiming for a fatal wound. However, Alfred skillfully evaded and blocked every single one of his attacks. The reason why America's bullet did not do much than a scratch on Alfred was because America did not hold magical ability whatsoever within him. For Alfred, America's bullets were nothing. Scotland on the other hand, was someone dangerous. And the sword he held was an incredible catalyzer that boosted his powers.

In short, while America's attacks could kill the low level creatures, could not do anything to Alfred. Scotland, however, could kill him. Oh, that was a very bad thing for Alfred. He could not afford to get killed at this point of the game. After all, it's been centuries since he found someone like Arthur.

No. If he died, he would lose Arthur, and Arthur was _his_.

With such thoughts twirling on his mind, Alfred leaped forward, clasping his right hand over Scotland's leg. Alfred tugged hard, dragging Scotland's body over the ground, Scotland cursed. In that hazardous situation Scotland stabbed his sword on the ground and with his free leg he kicked Alfred's head.

Scotland saw a glimpse of Alfred's smirk.

Then, he realized his mistake.

Now, without his sword, he was defenseless. There was no time to pull out the sword. Alfred stretched his right hand high where long black claws were already extending from his fingers. There was barely time to think. And the only thing Scotland could think was-

_Shit, this is gonna hurt._

Alfred struck down.

•••

Wales and Ireland had not moved from their spot, not even an inch. They were channeling their powers to Scotland. The circle on the floor was a gate, a passage for one's mind to wherever the user wished to go. Scotland, America and England's bodies had not left the house, instead they were standing in the middle of the circle with their eyes closed. The deeper the soul traveled, the longer the mind stayed on that side; the higher was the possibility that the body rejected it when finished the journey.

For someone like America who did not possess any magical quality, it was a risk. However, England's brothers decided to bring him along to the other side since he was probably the only one who could bring England back. The reason was the deep bond they shared, and over the years that bond had not corroded. With such high bet, they could only hope that their assumption was correct, that it would work.

However, America was not the only one in danger. England had been dormant for a month. - his energy and life force were almost extinguished - and Scotland was using all of his reserves to fight the demon. Wales and Ireland were like an energy supply for the three of them and the cost was already showing.

Both brothers were having difficulties breathing and concentrating their minds, and at this rate, they would lose control. That was not good. They were pushing their limits. They were getting dizzy. Wales leaned dangerously to the right. He stilled and planted his feet on the ground -he was not going to give up.

The door of the basement cracked open. A pair of footsteps resounded in the closed room. Two figures walked to the circle and placed themselves beside England's brothers. Both chanted some words and the circle's brightness rose.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, guys~" a young man wearing a red hat said cheerfully. "That fucking bastard really planned this!"

"We'll talk later. We need to concentrate, Romania." Wales said with his eyes closed.

"Please, excuse my brother's rudeness. We are grateful for your help." Ireland said. And Wales muttered, _liar_. And then Ireland hissed, it's _fucking_ courtesy idiot!

"Hehe, no worries~ We're England's friends, y'know?" Romania said. "Right, Norway?"

"Would you three shut up? Something is not right." Norway said, frowning.

He was right. Something was fluctuating. Something was-

"Something is wrong with Scotland…" Norway said.

Romania began to sweat, "Not only that… Anglia…"

"Brother is…" Wales couldn't finish his words.

Ireland said in a whisper, "We can't feel him."

•To Be Continued•


	5. Chapter 5

−_"…Do I know you?"_

−_"Yes, we have met before, although briefly…"_

'I remember…' England thought dizzily. 'I remember it now…' His eyes were closed, the darkness surrounded him; it felt bleak and unpleasant. England could not move, he was trapped, something was forcing him to lie down. It felt cold, very cold…

'When the accident occurred he was there, _he_ was there with us…' Images of the car sinking into the river passed through his mind. England recalled the time when he pulled America and himself out of the car, swimming clumsily to the river's bank; he remembered the icy water, the sensation of heaviness of his wet clothes, the fear at the thought of death. America was unconscious, England checked him and everything seemed alright, at least he was breathing. He needed to get help. England stood from the ground soaked, cold; and there _he_ was, standing in front of him with a delighted smile.

England felt something, there was something about him, something in his crooked smile, something in his voice that made his skin crawl. He offered his help, saying that he had already called assistance. England was stiff for a moment and the man said to him, "Poor sweetheart, you are shivering! Here, take my coat." England did not want it, but _he_ insisted; England accepted it reluctantly. England felt that he needed to reciprocate his good will…

And then, he asked for England's name.

England could not say United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland, so he used his human name instead. "Arthur Kirkland." He said. England thought vaguely that the man seemed more concerned about him than for America, who was still not waking up. Crouched in the ground, England turned his back to the man. The last thing he knew was arms wrapped around him, unintelligible words whispered into his ear and a darkening night appearing before his eyes.

Thousands of needles pierced through his skin, going into his body; it did not hurt but it felt awfully wrong. It bore into him, penetrating into his soul; he did not know what it was but it was one of the most suffocating moments he had ever had. It was setting within him, claiming ownership over him, taking everything away from him.

'It was a spell,' England thought bitterly. 'He used my name…'

England tried to move again, his brain ordered at his muscles to move, but there was no response; he simply could not move. His hand was taken and lifted in the air. England's body felt sluggish, cold, like a corpse. A pair of lips greeted the back of his hand.

"Just a bit more, love." He said in sweet voice. "You will soon be completely mine."

England, somehow, knew that Alfred was kissing him - but he did not feel anything, _it was horrible_.

England knew somehow that what Alfred was saying, was true.

•••

I must not fear.  
>Fear is the mind-killer.<br>Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  
>I will face my fear.<br>I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  
>And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.<br>Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.

•••

The heartless pouring rain fell incessantly outside; its sound was muted by brick walls, halls and concrete.

Wales froze at the sight before him; his heart turned cold. Ireland clenched his fists, anger boiling up inside his chest. Romania cursed aloud and Norway narrowed his eyes. Their job was to provide life force for Scotland, England and America; nothing more, nothing less. The four could cope with the task. However, they could not do anything more than that. They could not intervene in the things that were occurring in the other side. They could only wait, and pray...

There was a point in things, an instant, where everything can change.

Scotland was standing in the centre of the circle, still and with his arms wrapped securely around England. His right eye was bleeding, red drops falling like tears. His blood was descending from his mouth. His shoulder was beginning to soak in red liquid.

The damage was beginning to show in his body. It was only matter of time before he−

"Wales, focus here. We can't do anything about it." Ireland said.

Wales glared, gritting his teeth. "_I know._"

"You need to stay calm." Ireland said knowing that he was in no position to ask that if he, himself, was about to explode.

"Shut the fuck up!" Wales yelled angrily. "I know!"

They felt helpless, useless, worthless, weak and powerless; they were witnessing the moment in how their brothers were slipping away from them. They were afraid and angry but they could not do anything about it. They could only wait. Pray. Yell. And _hope_. Because, there was no earthly use for tears right now.

•••

Sometimes we might forget;  
>How simply and easily the blood flows;<br>Our Hope may diminish;  
>We may all fall in the bitter haze around us.<br>May it be that my blood be spilt;  
>Even upon this unholy ground;<br>Help me survive before Death departs;  
>O' spare this sinful heart,<br>Let's sing, before the whole world goes dark.

•••

In the end, after all their fights, America knew that England would be always within his reach. They were countries, they have long lives, they have time and resources. They could always _be_ close. Though, he knew that the relationship he shared with England was not the best. But he did not dislike or like it particularly. He was fine with how the things were between them. America was a conformist when England was concerned. However, now, in this moment, he knew that _forever_ did not exist. Now, he learned, _learnt_, that nothing could remain in this world.

America stood in the doorway, dreading even to breathe.

The room's darkness was hostile, hard. America muttered England's name. The sound that came out from his mouth was soft, and quiet, as if it really did not want to be heard. He called again and there was no response. The panic was rising each passing second - America had not forgotten the creatures crowding outside. He stepped inside with a rush of courage, and closed the door behind. He walked to England, looking at his face.

_He was so pale._

England's eyes were closed; his arms were hugging a tattered teddy bear. He did not seem to be breathing. America panicked, extending his hand to touch England. He stopped. Scotland said he could not touch him. So, what now? If he could not touch him what could he do? Yell? So he did. He called England's name desperately again and again, painfully aware that the monsters outside were slowly tearing the door apart.

Why was he not getting a response? What did he do wrong? Why could not England simply wake up and scowl at him? Why could he not touch him? Why could he not hug him? Why? Why? What…? What if England was already−?

He yelled again. He wanted to avoid that thought, he wanted to fool himself again, he wanted to pretend everything was alright, he wanted to close his eyes, and when he opened them again everything would be fine.

America stared at England's face.

He wanted to cry so much.

_Gone. If he was gone..._

If that possibility occurred, then he should very well−

The frail door broke and monsters flowed in. Suddenly, America's first priority changed. He needed to protect England. His instincts were guiding him now. Petty thoughts were pushed to the back of his head. He took England in his arms and ran away.

•••

Scotland coughed; he sat up on the ground holding one side of his face, trying to stop the bleeding and the pain. The wound was burning him inside out and, the gash in his shoulder stung. He tried to breathe, his temple and his right eye throbbing. He felt as if his head was about to explode.

"_Fuck_, I need a drink." He muttered grouchily, but as soon his left eye caught sight of the fight before him, immense satisfaction swept through him. He watched with extreme amusement as Alfred gasped on the ground in agony. A low growl sounded above him and blue claws pierced through his ribs, shaking his body, making pressure until his bones were cracking, and _jutting __out._

Alfred screamed and Scotland laughed.

"I think my pet likes you!" Scotland managed to say despite the pain, "She usually kills her preys quickly, you know?"

Alfred wasn't listening. A blue dragon was busy tearing his limbs apart. Her fangs were ripping his skin, splitting his flesh and muscles savagely. The dragon howled, not wasting time to destroy his body.

Alfred gave up. He was careless. He thought he could handle Scotland alone. But Scotland was prepared; before, when they were standing in front of the house, Scotland pulled a bottle tossing it aside. That miserable gesture of tossing the bottle away was a summoning act for that water dragon. A high class creature of magnificent powers. That must have cost him a great part of his energy, Alfred thought vaguely.

It was no use to fight back now. Although his regenerative capabilities were incredible, the dragon had already cast a curse on him. It would take time to get free from it, days, perhaps _months_. It would be silly to waste energy now. Scotland was someone dangerous. Alfred had almost killed Scotland, if it was not for the dragon, Scotland's brains would have been the ones spilt on the ground and not Alfred's insides.

Alfred took one last glance at the house, thinking quite sadly. A_rthur… I'm sorry I can't be with you this time…_

But, Alfred smiled afterwards, when a faint sensation crossed his spine. He smiled wider and let out a laugh. Alfred's body shook involuntary and turned to Scotland's direction. "Hey, _Mr. Beast,_" He called with the last drop of energy he had. "Take care of my Arthur for now." Scotland felt alarmed, something was not right. Alfred's eyes were telling him, those pitiless black eyes were proud; telling him that he was going to win. Scotland narrowed his eyes but could not ask anything more since Alfred's head was hauled up in the sky.

Nothing remained of Alfred's body after that. He stayed quiet for a few moments feeling mystified for some reason. A blue creature walked up hovering over him. A cold tongue licked one side of his face; Scotland put his hand on its head. Gunshots sounded inside the house, Scotland sighed.

"Come on, Ness. Let's pick up the brats."

•••

The creatures were attacking, biting, scratching at them; they were everywhere, on the corners, on the ceiling, on the walls. America did not stop running, they needed to get outside. He went down to the first floor and almost fell twice. America stopped abruptly; the front door was blocked by a huge wall of those monsters. Hundreds of eyes, thousands of teeth were stopping his path.

America turned quickly to the right and ran to the basement. If this house was like a replica of his old house then there should be another door connected to the outside. In there, a faint light passed through the dusty crystals of the small windows. Thankfully, the creatures were not in there. He locked the door setting England on the ground first.

England was cold - really, _really_ cold.

The door was obstructed by a few things; he rushed and began to throw the things aside. The door budged and the monsters came flowing down like a black wave. America dashed to England's side. But it was too late; the creatures swallowed him up with their bodies. America threw himself into the black mass, kicking and punching, searching for England. He cursed, he yelled England's name again with the same response. Why was he not answering to his name?

America could not see it but England began to move. He heard his name being called, yes, his name being softly sang, _Arthur…_

A hand rose in between the mass. America fought and gripped it. The creatures began to squirm, to run, to hide and get away. As if they had felt danger close by. Soon after, the door that America tried to open was smashed, it broke into pieces. America pulled England closer to his body.

A blue dragon entered, growling lowly. The creatures fled from there in an instant. America saw Scotland behind the dragon and breathed in relief. He immediately turned to England who was holding his head between his hands. England was hearing a buzz, a high sound slowly fading away in the back of his mind, his heart drummed, his head hurt, his throat was dry, and he wanted to−

"England, are you hurt?" America asked quickly, checking England's body. He seemed alright.

England's voice was hoarse. "What..? Who…?"

"It's me, America. Scotland is here too." America was still anxious but the sound of England's voice was inspiring. He felt relieved, he felt happy, he felt joy.

"Brats, we can't stay here any longer." Scotland said gravely, supporting his weight on Ness. "This place is going to collapse."

Not wasting time, America helped England up. The Brit finally looked at his face.

_"Who are you...?"_

•••

When they came back to the real world, Scotland collapsed on the floor. Wales and Ireland were the first ones to react, tending to England and Scotland. Romania ran upstairs to bring help from the other nations. Norway checked America; he had bites and scratches here and there but nothing serious. England's body was weak, Scotland was severely injured; his right eye and shoulder were bleeding profusely. He might have internal injuries as well.

France, Switzerland, Japan and Austria arrived a bit after, taking them to a proper place and soon began to treat them. Scotland and England's brothers, America and friends could only wait for now.

The operation lasted hours. Unfortunately, they could not save Scotland's right eye. As they tried to fix the retina, to their bewilderment, it began to decay, compromising the rest of the organ and in turn even Scotland's brain. They could not take risks for future complications.

England was sleeping, he did not require any IVs or oxygen. He was fine and only resting.

It was nice to know that England was fine, but for the rest of the nations they could not simply comprehend how it all happened in less than three hours. Norway and Romania tried to explain it to them; England's brothers did not care at all.

•••

It was first the sound of a heart beating, alone, slowly and steady; then, the sound of a child's laugh, perhaps running in a park, happy, blissful. After that, the cries of a woman slipped in, her despairing voice carving into his mind (his heart began to beat harder). A police siren wailed loudly, the heart beating sound slipped in again, alone, steady, calm. A musical box began to play, it was soft and charming, lovely and calming (his heart beat even faster), someone was whispering into all the sounds (his heart was now racing), hissing, breathing hard, whispering, calling his name, saying, _Arthur…_

England fluttered his eyes open. He looked frantically around, in a split second he saw a demonic shadow floating in the darkness; he sat upright, stared directly into it and jumped off the bed. The curtains were drawn, his heart beat hard in his chest, there was an unfathomable pain in his brain making his eyes see red.

He lifted his hand towards the shadow; he saw two red dots, like the flames of hellfire looking into his own.

The door was open and soon after the lights was switched on. England was blinded by the sudden change.

"_Angleterre_!" France exclaimed, he rushed to England's side. "What are you doing? You can't get up yet!" France was mildly upset, very happy and quite worried.

"I…" England glanced at the empty corner of the room that he was staring at, "I was looking for the door…" He said.

"You don't need to look for doors! What you need to look for, it's the bed! The bed!" France said, pushing England onto the bed.

England looked at him deadpan. "Shame on you, your lustful brain can only think on that, hm?"

France stopped thinking and stared at England, before he laughed and hugged him. "He is back!"

"W-What are you doing?" England wriggled away. "Get off, Frog!"

France did not listen to him and began to kiss him, England yelped when one of the kisses landed too close on his mouth. A cracking sound forced England to look at the door's direction. France paid no mind to it.

Three deadly glares and one resigned sigh crossed the room.

"I told you, didn't I? Someone should have come with France to check on England." Canada said knowing no-one besides, _perhaps_, England was listening to him. While Wales, Ireland and America beat France a little bit, Canada walked to England.

"How are you feeling?" Canada asked with a smile.

England tore his eyes away from the fight and looked at Canada, "I'm fine, thank you."

"You really gave us a fright." Canada said, helping England to sit properly on the bed.

"I'm sorry." England said.

Canada looked alarmed and said, "No! It wasn't your fault! We are just glad that you are okay."

England smiled a little and trailed his look to the bullies and the Frog. "Do you remember what happened…?" Canada asked tentatively.

"Yes." England frowned. "At least, I think I do…" The pain in his head was still there, what was the thing he saw before? A trick of his mind? Why did he seek to touch the shadow? What was he thinking? Canada fidgeted, unsure what to say, maybe he should not have asked anything.

"Alright! Let's check the patient!" France rose from the ground.

England looked at France's face and winced. "…I think you are the one needing a doctor…"

•••

"Say it again and I'm going to hit you!" Scotland said serious, holding a lamp.

"Yes! I mean no! Sorr-! I mean ye-noo, arghhh brother stop it! You are not okay yet! Don't move unnecessarily!" England pleaded.

"Are you trying to order me? You little shit." Scotland scowled.

"I'm sorr-! I mean NO!" England cried. "STOP MOVING PLEASE!"

Meanwhile outside Scotland's room Wales and Ireland laughed, really hard.

"What's this fuss all about?" America asked, while behind him a sparkling France and a calm Japan stood.

"Brother is scolding England." Wales shrugged.

"Say that again and I'm going to spank you!" They heard Scotland say, "Alright! Alright! I won't! Put the slipper down!" They heard England say.

Wales and Ireland cackled.

"What did England say?" America asked confused.

"I'm sorry for blah blah…" Ireland said dismissively.

"Ohhh…" America said. France and Japan went in; it was time for Scotland's check up.

"Frannie shouldn't have entered there…" Wales said with a sadistic smile.

_**Crash!**_

"That's for kissing my brother!"

There was a brief silence when Wales and Ireland began to laugh again.

Japan stepped outside, "Um, could please somebody take France-san to Switzerland and Austria-san?"

•••

The time was being kind to them, the time that passed healed wounds and restored minds.

Everything was coming back slowly to where it once was. At least, that was they wanted to think. Because, everyone knew _changes are changes_, no matter how small. Not everything is as it seems so.

America walked hurriedly through the crowded streets of London. "Where the hell is he?" America barked into the phone. "First, he doesn't want to rest, then ask for the work he missed, then refuses to take breaks, then simply disappears without saying anything! Fuck!"

[Yes, yes, I understand. But please don't shout. You are in a public street.] Canada's soft voice said in the other line.

"I don't give a flying shit! Tell me where to find him!" America yelled as the pedestrians walked away from the mad American.

America heard Canada sigh, [England's brothers said where they think he is… but I don't think you'll like it…]

"Mattie, I don't care. Just tell me!"

Another sigh, [Fine…You have to go to the one of the Magnificent Seven, the direction is…]

•••

The chapel's roof had been gone since a long time ago. England laid on his back, facing the sky, feeling the sun over his skin, watching the clouds pass by. It felt so nice; it was so quiet and peaceful and warm. He loved the sun - before, he did not pay much attention to it, but now, he could not live without feeling it. He breathed in. He liked to be there, he closed his eyes, empting his mind from mundane thoughts. He could hear the soft breeze, the rustle of leaves of the threes. When he was like this, he almost could forget the pain in his head.

England opened his eyes as he heard steps coming closer. This day was not available for visitors. He rose from the ground and walked out of the chapel. He looked around but there was no one there. The guard must have forgotten something, England thought.

He decided to take a short walk before heading home. He turned right and began to appreciate the green vegetation, the sculptures of angels and crosses. England stood in front of a mausoleum with his brow furrowed. There was a piece of paper laying on the ground. He picked it up and began to read.

_My dearest, I know what you feel;_

_To live as in exile, to live seeing no-one_

_in the vast desert of a town that is dying,_

_where one hears nothing but the vague murmur_

_of an organ sobbing, or the belfry tolling._

_To feel oneself remote from souls, from minds,_

_from all that bears a diadem on its brow;_

_and without shedding light consume oneself_

_like a futile lamp in the depths_

_of dark burial vaults._

_Oh, to live this way! All alone…to witness_

_the wilting of the divine soul's white flowering,_

_in contempt of all and with none the wiser,_

_alone, alone, always alone, observing_

_one's own extinction._

_I shall wait for you,_

England heard more footsteps; he folded the piece of paper inside the pocket of his jacket, and followed the sound of someone murmuring. England hid behind one of the angels and watched with a mixture of amusement and annoyance at America.

America was muttering to himself. _"I'm in a friggin' cemetery alone! Oh fuck, what if there're ghosts in here! Why does England want to walk with fucking dead people! Zombies ain't cool!"_

England considered seriously spooking America right there but he changed his mind as he saw his terrified face. He sighed and walked to America.

"Hey−" England could not finish his sentence as America screamed like a little girl. "Are you done?" England asked afterward, exasperated.

"Do you want to give me a heart attack?" America said with wide eyes. "You don't suddenly sneak on people in a freakin' graveyard, you know!"

"I did not sneak on you, America." England said, walking away to the main road. "I was in plain sight. You are just dumb."

"You weren't! And I'm not!" America yelled, running after him.

England sighed, well, his break was over now.

"Besides!" America began. "What are you doing here of all of places! If you want to be alone you could have used my house!"

"Yes, I understand. For me to be alone requires being in the same house as you. Breathe the same air as you and feel your eyes watching constantly over me. Oh, it is my mistake, my mistake." England rolled his eyes; he understood that America just wanted to be a bit, _protective_, so to speak, for everything that happened. But he was fine. He did not need his attention; it unnerved him for some reason.

"Are you hearing what I'm saying!"

England turned to him, "Yes, I _heard_ what you say but I did not _listen_ to it."

America was about to retort when something moved between some bushes, probably a squirrel - he shut his mouth tight, the color on his face drained completely. England sighed again, pretending that the throbbing in his head did not exist, and stretched his hand towards him. America was about to refuse when something flew to the sky. He clung to England's arm all the way to the exit of Nunhead.

England tried to fix his coat and remembered the poem in his breast pocket, and his heart fluttered without reason.

The signature of the poem at the bottom was a simple _A_.

•••

The fluorescent light of the public bathroom flickered.

Water dripped from his face.

His hands were on the sink below, he saw his reflection on the mirror; his face was pale, his head hurt, he was tired, he was _hungry_.

England splashed more water on his face and exited the bathroom. It was late. He waited for the last train to arrive and finally go home. Maybe, he should have gone home earlier, his head was killing him. It has been six weeks, and the pain did not go away. England went to the doctor, he prescribed him something but it did not work. He felt as if his head was eating him alive.

The train arrived and he went in. England just wanted to sleep.

While he rubbed his temples, something caught his attention.

A woman wearing a lovely red shirt sat a couple of seats away from him. She was gorgeous, blue eyes, blond hair with a fine face. England closed his eyes; his headache was making his ears buzz. He felt dizzy; he blinked a couple of time when his vision began to get blurry. England saw her getting close to him with concerned eyes. He saw her in red. He could not hear what she was saying. He…

He saw red.

He could only see red.

He wanted red.

He will see her red.

•••

They were walking in the dark streets of London, the lights flickered as the passed by; with charming in his voice he recited these paragraphs:

_The night is darkening round me, _

_The wild winds coldly blow; _

_But a tyrant spell has bound me,_

_And I cannot, cannot go._

_The giant trees are bending_

_Their bare boughs weighed with snow; _

_The storm is fast descending,_

_And yet I cannot go._

_Clouds beyond clouds above me,_

_Wastes beyond wastes below;_

_But nothing drear can move me:_

_I will not, cannot go._

"Wow, that's amazing!" She bounced on her heels with each step. "Tell me, what was your name again? I didn't catch it before in the train."

"My name is," He smiled, "_Arthur._"

•To Be Continued•


	6. Chapter 6

This story was proofread by **RikaCain**. Thank you very much for your help my dear!

•••

_Sometimes it surfaces, blue welts and protruding life lines. Death in masquerade, wears black, collects memory – slowly. Life wears red, is always teasing, "I love you."_

•••

England felt a lethal bite on his neck. Sharp teeth were slicing through his muscles, right through his jugular, through his throat, cutting up his voice – he could feel the blood wash over his skin, flowing over the floor, deserting his body. He could see himself dying in the hands of someone similar to him. He had England's face. He had England's hair. He had England's smile.

England's blood ran, seeping out of his body, staining his clothes. He drank England's blood. He ate England's flesh. He kissed England's lips. He tore away England's skin. He licked England's face. He smiled, killed and loved England over and over again.

England stood before them, his corpse and his living double, without a hint of resentment.

England did not feel anything. Why should he? It was dream, right? Why should he feel anything over it? It was not the first time he had this dream anyway. Why should he care? Why should he even pretend?

England was, however, angry; not because of his apparent death. No. England was angry because he could not be involved in it.

England knew this feeling was something he should not feel - but, he could not chase it away. It lay within him, deep inside his soul, deep inside his heart. He wanted to be part of it, because he felt that he was not part of anything.

That feeling was terrifying, hideous, awful, and _warm_, very warm.

England waited for it to end, sullenly. Because he knew that when he woke from this dream, he would feel scared, he would feel alone, and he would feel sad.

But today was different.

This time his double did not ignore him.

This time he walked up to him.

This time he embraced him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

This time England could move, reciprocating the gesture.

This time he spoke, whispering to England, "You're finally here… He'll be here for you soon…"

This time the night did not die away with the light.

•••

_The world is quiet, or so it seems,  
>And another day dies, banished to memory,<br>I slip into a world filled with my own screams,  
>Knowing these demons will destroy me.<em>

•••

Scotland stared at the night outside the window. In this night, the full moon was giving off an eerie glow. The place was quiet; too quiet for his liking. Scotland looked at his watch and frowned.

"He's late." He muttered, his wrinkles deepening as time passed. He felt a sting in his right eye and could not help but to grab his face with his hand. It was a ghost of pain, the feeling of something that was there, though there was nothing there.

Scotland was at England's place waiting for his return. Scotland was waiting for him, ready to scold him. He had received complaints from France, Canada in a less annoying length, and America. Lots of complaints from America. Saying that his little brother was overdoing his work yet again.

That fact was not new to him. However, since the incident happened, England's allies have been rather protective of him. Scotland surprised himself as he heard himself growl darkly.

He clicked his tongue and thought, 'I can be jealous! He is _my_ brother!' He did not have to argue with himself, but for the sake of his sanity he made a list of the things he was allowed to feel about his baby brother.

While he grumbled under his breath, two red dots flashed lightly in the night. The red dots blended into the darkness and the moon shone brighter than any other day that night.

•••

_The world is quiet, or so it seems,  
>And another day dies, banished to memory,<br>I slip into a world that used to be for dreams,  
>And feel a terrorizing horror begin inside of me.<em>

•••

America slammed the door of his room. He tossed his bomber jacket on his bed, he slumped on his chair, seething. He turned his laptop on and waited for the system to run. As soon as the screen came to live he searched for an icon on the desktop, clicking it fervently. Meanwhile it started, he plugged his cell phone to the charger; its battery had died hours ago.

A small screen popped up and America took a deep breath.

"Okay. Love. Is. A. Bitch." America began, talking to the webcam, "What do I have to do for him to look at me? Actually, really look at _this_ awesome hero, hm?" He brushed his hair, exasperated. "I think- I feel, that he's getting away. Away from me, away from all of us. I think he's with us physically, but - he's not really there, you know? I think France has noticed it too. I don't know about his brothers, they are weird dudes. But that's beside the point. I'm, I…"

America sighed, "I'm scared that someday I'll wake up and he'll be gone… _again_… and I'll be like, _where are you? Where are you going?_ ... That's stupid and cliché. I fucking know. But I can't help it. If he goes away I.., I'll be screwed. Royally screwed. If he goes, then.., I'll think he doesn't care about me- though, for him, I…"

He lapsed into a momentarily silence.

"Anyway, besides that, I was thinking, well, _I've been always thinkin' that before_. I know that England isn't honest. I just want him to be honest with me, maybe if he does, I could be… you know, I'd be closer to him. I really want to be with him. I know I'm a jerk for demanding it from him after what happened, _or_, because that happened. But, I'll be the biggest fucking idiot in the whole world if I don't do something!" America stood from his chair, still facing the webcam.

"I mean, I'd prefer to be a jerk and an irritating bother over losing him again! But he doesn't understand that! That gets on my fucking nerves! I mean, fuck! I'm just like LOOK AT ME! I'm for real here! I love you! I fucking love you England! I. LOVE. YOU!"

America panted a little, and sat on his chair.

"Damn, that felt good! Mattie was right about it. It's refreshing to talk like this. Ahem, as I was saying before, love is a –_Fuck_! Russia is online! Shit, offline, offline, offline!"

It was too late.

* * *

><p><em><strong>SunflowerSunshine:<strong>_ Hello, America (^J^).

(America groaned.)

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ hey whats up

_**SunflowerSunshine:**_ Nothing much, just surfing through the web~ (^J^)~.

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ dude thats ancient to say D:

_**SunflowerSunshine: **_I did not say it. I wrote it. (^o^) And it is not old. OK?

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ lol whatever

_**SunflowerSunshine:**_ Anyhow. Now, that we are both online I would like to discuss the next meeting.

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ its to be now? im kinda busy…

_**SunflowerSunshine: **_What can be more important than the meeting?

(America began to type_, my love life and the fact that England thinks I'm still a child_ but then on second thought hastily deleted the text.)

_**SuperCaptainHero: **_ok just lets end this quick

–MikuLover001 is now online.–

_**Mikulover001:**_ Good afternoon America-san.

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ kiku! :D

_**Mikulover001:**_ Yes. America-san, if it is not much trouble can we discuss the next meeting?

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ why the hell everyone wants to discuss the damn meeting DX!

_**Mikulover001:**_ I am not so sure what are you referring to, America-san… (¬д¬ )

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ kikus emoticon! XD!

_**Mikulover001:**_ It was a mistake. Please do not pay attention to it!

–SunflowerSunshine poked SuperCaptainHero.–

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ fuck… ss is online i hafta answer him brb

_**Mikulover001:**_ It is okay, I will wait.

(America switched back to the tab on Russia's conversation.)

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ hey sorry dude japan got online and i forgot

_**SunflowerSunshine:**_ I do not like to be ignored.

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ oh dude dont start it

_**SunflowerSunshine: **_What?

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ this! after the next line youre gonna blah blah blah for hours!

_**SunflowerSunshine:**_ I am just stating my dislike for long pauses in conversations.

_**SuperCaptainHero: **_exactly!

–MaximusMegaMaple is online.–

_**MaximusMegaMaple: **_America! Thank God! Why aren't you answering your phone! I've been calling you for hours!

(America frowned and decided to let Russia know this time that he was answering his brother.)

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ mattie what's up

_**MaximusMegaMaple:**_ What's up? What's up! You don't answering your goddamn phone that's what happened!

_**SuperCaptainHero:**_ whoa hey bro chill out my phone was dead whats wrong

_**MaximusMegaMaple:**_ England! That's what's wrong!

(America's heart clenched as he read the next lines of Canada's log.)

_**MaximusMegaMaple:**_ England is missing!

* * *

><p>•••<p>

Darkness enshrouded the light. There was no room for it. Darkness ate it whole, ate it whole, again and again, ate it whole. Darkness with darkness. That's the rule. Light with light. That's the rule. That was how things were. How the things would always be.

A sinister laugh sounded in the deepest part of the place.

"Kishishi," another voice laughed. "Oh master, I know. I know, I know what you've been teaching me all these repulsive long centuries… I know every single bitter word by heart."

Something creaked in the distance. A sharp noise fell, like a shriek from hell, and a blade hitting against soft flesh. A cry of pain followed after it, and then the laughter began again.

"Master, you're truly a sadist!"

The creaking noises began again.

"When a strong emotion is associated with an object or person by a demon, this never vanishes," An amused tone lingered in his words. "A fading emotion is not faced by demons. Haha, there are some cases where the emotion can be so powerful it consumes the demon who harbors it…"

He was enjoying it, "When this happens, rejection does not exist for the demon. The demon would likely to obtain the source of this emotion to himself by any means. You taught me that, _Master_."

The creaking noises ceased. "So under your own law, I shall follow my instincts… I shall be with Arthur. I promised he will be mine. Mine alone. Mine to love. Mine. Mine. Mine!"

The ground rumbled and a dry howl echoed through the air.

"No need. I know my way out." He said cheerfully.

Cold silence remained until the blade fell and the cries of pain began once again.

•••

His eyes were open. England stared at the clouds passing by. The sun was shining brightly, beautifully. Just the way he liked it. There was just a problem.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked, his voice raspy.

England sat up. His body was sore. He looked around, slowly becoming aware and deeply confused.

"Why am I in a bloody tomb!"

He recognized the design of the place; it was one of the tombs of the Nunhead. England tried to think in the things he did last night and did not notice the chime ringing in his ears. A soft song playing steadily in his mind. The subtle flutter of his heart, until he saw it. Until he thought, "I'm dead, aren't I?"

Low chuckles and strong steps sounded closer and closer. "My love, my Arthur, my light, my darkness, my life, my death, I'm here. I'm here for you!"

England did not move and looked up to the sky, "Why is hell so pretty?" This must be hell, because Alfred was there.

Alfred laughed, getting close to England. He stretched his arms, taking England's face in his hands. Alfred bent a little, placing his forehead on England's. "I missed you…"

England looked up, unable to move away. He was not able to move away because he did not want to move away. Because it was the first time, in a long time, since he had felt this good, since he had felt this warmth, since he had felt not like a broken piece, but whole.

England asked, "Why do you look at me like that…?" _with eyes of pure adoration_, he did not mention.

Alfred chuckled, charmingly, lovingly, "Just because I love you."

England did not care. He felt so, so, so good right now that hell could have frozen over and he would have not minded at all. Alfred's strong arms wrapped around him, whispering sweet words, warm comforting embrace was, was… was _wrong_.

What. What was he doing? Have he lost his mind! He was. Alfred was the one. Alfred is-!

Yet he could not let go. The mere thought of parting was painful, was devastating, was agony, a raw uncorrupted sorrow.

"I'm so sorry; it took so long for me to come back," Alfred kissed England's shoulder, resting his head on it, "it was a bit tricky to pass the gatekeeper."

"Am I dead?" England asked in soft voice.

Alfred brought England's hand to his face and kissed it sweetly, "Death is relative for us, my dear. For humans, though, it's literal. Like for the girl you killed last night." Alfred's lips were so soft against his skin.

The clouds in the sky covered the sun and a light, cold breeze came along.

"…_What_?" England asked.

"Yes, my dear. Humans are fragile creatures, so easily… _breakable_." Alfred said, searching for a handkerchief in his jacket. "She was lovely, I must admit. However, I don't think her taste was good enough for you. I'll take care of that from now on, don't worry. I'm sorry for making you wait this long, you must have starved, that's why you did it with that girl." Alfred crouched and wiped something off England's face.

England could not comprehend what Alfred was saying. He- He killed someone? That was absurd! He did not- his mind stopped working as he saw Alfred's white handkerchief stained with blood.

England's body shook, a cold shiver ran down his spine, his hands burnt, his gut twisted painfully. He knew what he did with his hands. He still could feel the size of her throat in his hands, _so warm, so nice, so warm_, she was getting _cold_… His blurry gaze still could see it, her blue bedroom, her white sheets, her boyish clothes, her psychology books on the desk, her posters of movies he had never seen and would never see.

England still could heard his voice repeating, _I love you_ - I want to break you, _I love you _- I want to tear you up, _I love you so much, Alice_ - I want to see the crimson blood flow, - _Please, I love you. I love you. Love you_ - I want to love you, because I love you. - _My Love, don't die_.

Her skin felt numb, she was watching without emotions as her blood spilt over his skin.

She felt as if a barbed wire trapped her.

She gasped, "_Arthur… don't cry_…" she said weakly, watching his tears roll over his cheeks, her mind was spinning out of control, '_his eyes are like clear chrysolite gems bathed in red_,' she thought. She sighed softly and her breath did not come back again.

England could not breathe.

"It's okay," Alfred repeated, embracing England, "It's okay, I'll teach you how to do it. It's okay, I'm here. It's okay. I'll be always with you. Be confident of my word, love, I cherish you more than anyone, more than anything, more than my own life."

Meanwhile England muttered incessantly, "I didn't kill her. I didn't. I didn't kill her." England clutched Alfred's jacket, feeling lost, feeling scared, feeling confused, feeling horribly good.

"Hey Arthur, my love," Alfred kissed England's stained red lips. "Can I be your sun?"

•••

Maybe, maybe this was just a dream. An awful nightmare. Sure this was something that was not real. But he heard it. He felt it. He saw it. It was real, and the world knew it was real too.

He stood numbly in front of the TV not quite sure of anything anymore.

**{**…next, we have the weather report. In the afternoon, due to the effect of seasonal rain front we expect to see shower rains nationwide…**}**

The front door was open and closed loudly.

**{**…And now for the news. Last night, in an apartment in East London, the body of the student college Alice Klein, age 22, was discovered. She had been strangled to death. The authorities informed her state that presented severe cranial trauma. She had been also stabbed several times with a sharp tool. The neighbors did not hear anything whatsoever…**}**

He heard a familiar voice curse. The voice and the steps got closer but he did not move.

**{**…A murder investigation is underway by Scotland Yard…**}**

"England!" Scotland exclaimed as he saw his brother standing in the middle of the living room. "Where the fuck have you been! We've been looking for you everywhere since yesterday!" Scotland rambled on. But as he approached to his baby brother, something inside of him told him that something was wrong.

England was standing still, looking blankly at the TV's screen.

"Brat, what's wrong?" Scotland asked, pulling England's arms lightly to himself. England's body moved but there was no response from his part.

Alarms triggered in Scotland's mind as he saw England's stained clothes. He roughly pulled him fully towards him asking frantically if he was hurt, if he was alright. The response he got was something unexpected, "…It's not… my blood…"

Scotland grabbed England's chin, making him face him, "You have to speak for me to understand." He said serious, with the commanding voice he used only when important matters were at stake.

England held his gaze, "It is not my blood." He repeated and something inside Scotland shattered. He had never seen that look in his brother's face. They were brothers, they shared a lot of trials and the feeling of resignation or defeat was not something they had.

Taking a shaky breath, Scotland asked, "Who's it then?"

England mouthed something, unable to say it - instead he asked, "Brother… there is no way for me to die, is it?"

Scotland gripped England's arms, suddenly furious. Why was he saying such atrocities! He could not accept this kind of talk, those kind of words. Scotland was barely containing the anger he was feeling, if it was another time he would have punched England for asking such a stupid question but, right now, seeing how England did not even complain from the pain Scotland surely knew he was inflicting in his arms, he could not help but be patient.

"Look, I don't know what happened but we'll work it out, you understand?" At his words England smiled sadly. Scotland just shook his head, trying to restrain his exasperation. He decided to wait for England's response - for now he needed to change, the blood in his shirt was already dry. He pulled England to follow and made him strip inside the shower. He made sure England was really without injuries, when he was sure of it, he stepped outside and looked for clean clothes for him.

In the shower, under the warm water running over his skin, England muttered. "We'll find a way out of this one, right, brother?" He laughed.

England finished his shower; he dressed in his clean clothes and walked to his bedroom. He was not surprised in the slightest to find Scotland in his bedroom sitting on a chair and looking extremely somber.

"You look awfully grim, brother." England commented.

"You look awfully aloof, brat." Scotland retorted.

The silence settled and England sat on his bed, looking outside in the night, looking at the full moon. Neither of them spoke. Because, they both knew, England was not going to talk. Scotland had, however, the vague hope of England talking about what happened. The minutes passed until they became hours. That strange silence still settled in the room. England was already tucked in his bed-sheets, looking at the wall passively. Scotland left a harsh sigh and stood from the chair.

"Oh, are you leaving me alone?" England asked, raising an eyebrow, "Don't you think I'll run away?"

Scotland waited in the doorway, looking at him solemnly, "_Nay_." He said.

They looked at each other for a moment until England turned away, "You should…" England muttered, burying his face on his pillow. Scotland did not hear his comment and left the room.

But certainly, England left his room.

It was past midnight when Scotland felt his bed creak. Before he could turn completely, he heard England whisper quietly, "I'm cold…" He moved closer to Scotland's back, and said softly, "I can't sleep…"

England waited to be throw out by Scotland, and flinched lightly when Scotland turned around. But, he immediately relaxed as Scotland wrapped an arm around him. His brother pulled him closer and kissed lightly on the top of his head.

"Hey," Scotland said after some time, "everything is going to be fine."

England did not say anything as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

•••

The next morning Scotland was gone. A simple note on the pillow his message.

_My boss called. I'll be back later. Don't you ever think you are free of this. You better be home when I come back or I'll punish you!_

_PS: I bought some biscuits. They're on the dining table._

England rose from the bed and looked outside the window. The sun had hidden behind the clouds. It was raining. He left the room and dressed in a comfortable attire. He picked up his cell phone and deleted 74 missing calls and 22 messages. There were from France, Canada, other countries and America. Mostly from America. He typed out a new message.

[If you are available, can we meet in the coffee shop we usually go to? I need to talk to you.]

England sent the message, chewing a biscuit and drinking some tea. There was an immediate reply from America.

[I'm so gonna punch you for not calling back! … I'll be there in an hour »:c ]

England half smiled. He finished his biscuits and his tea. He left the plates in the dishwasher and went to his study. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write.

•••

America looked outside the window, watching the crowd of people running about the streets in frenzy. He stirred his espresso, sipping it lightly.

"Sorry for the wait, the traffic was horrible."

America almost spilled his coffee when England materialized in front of him. "Dude! What the- you!"

"What?" England furrowed his brow.

"Don't sneak on me like that!" America protested.

England sighed with a small smile, "I did not sneak on you, America. You are probably deaf."

"You did! And I'm not!" America said.

"Yes, yes, whatever the princess says." England snickered at America's offended expression.

"Anyhow, I called you here because I want you to make an errand for me, go to the post office tomorrow and reclaim a letter on my name." England gave America a piece of paper.

America stared at the piece of paper.

"Stare at it some more and it's going to spontaneously combust, America." England said, amused.

"Okay, let's get this straight. You suddenly disappear without telling anyone. You suddenly appear again. You suddenly ask me for something saying you need to talk to me and it's for a stupid errand?" America was very troubled by all this.

"Yup." England said simply.

America sighed defeated, "I can't understand you." He said, dropping his head on the table.

England laughed softly, "You will do it for me, won't you?"

America glanced at England, "Of course I will. I'm a man of my word." _You taught me to be that._

"I'm proud of you, you know?" England said and America turned his head so fast that he thought he got a whiplash.

"What? Didn't you know?" England asked faking confusion. America gaped and shook his head dumbly. "Well, now, you know." England laughed at America's perplexion.

England stood from his chair while America recovered from the shock of that statement, when England did another thing America was not sure he could recover completely. England bent down, took his face and kissed his cheek. America became a mass of spouting incoherencies after that.

"Goodbye." England said and walked away.

A bit after, America finally realized what happened and ran after England. Outside the coffee shop the rain fell incessantly. America looked everywhere, trying to find him among the crowd of umbrellas.

He spotted him and shouted "England!" People looked at him weirdly. England stopped and looked back. America finally caught with him.

"What are you doing git! You can't call me that in public!" England scolded him but covered him with his umbrella nonetheless.

"I was-I was well," America did not make sense of what he was saying even to himself.

"Okay, okay, what was so important than you have to run all the way here without your umbrella?" England finally asked.

"Oh, well, that, about that, I, um," Alfred stuttered.

England huffed in annoyance, "I don't have all the time in the world, America."

"Argh! Can we have a date tomorrow? There! I said it!" America was red to the tip of his ears. The younger nation did not dare to look at England.

"Okay." England said.

America thought he got a second whiplash, "Really?"

"Yes, you _idiot_. I am saying it." England glared at him.

"Oh, yes, of course hahaha! It's just that I didn't think you'd actually say yes… that's all…" America ended lamely.

England sighed, "Anyway, go back. You didn't pay that coffee, did you?"

Of course he did not. "Yeah, well, see you tomorrow!" America did not move from his spot.

England watched him, slightly confused; finally, America took courage and kissed England on the cheek. America ran away saying bye and internally cheering _yahoo!_

England sighed, turned around and said, "I'm sorry."

•••

Alfred was staring at the clouds, he turned around lightly as he heard someone approaching and something falling on the ground.

England pointed a gun at Alfred's direction with determination and anger, "So, if I shoot a bullet through your skull, you will still stay alive?"

Both were without cover, England had tossed his umbrella on the ground and Alfred did not seem to care about the weather.

Alfred looked at England curiously, "Yes, indeed. But, love, do you really want to shoot me?"

"Certainly, I wish you beheaded and dead." England said acidly.

Alfred grinned widely, "Oh! I'm so glad! Tell me, do you want to drink my blood?" Alfred asked, getting closer to England, who took a step back.

"What are you saying?" England asked, still aiming his gun at Alfred's head.

"It's normal for you to try to hurt me. Your development is steady, and for that I'm glad. Your instincts are surfacing, this feeling you have, this thirst, this lust for blood and violence is absolutely normal. And since I'm responsible of it, shoot me. Stab me. Punch me. Kill me. Do as you please with this body of mine."

Alfred remained close. England panicked, not because he was afraid. No, it was because he was beginning to feel excited. What… what has he become? He stumbled until his back hit a concrete wall.

"My dear, don't be afraid, you can do it." Alfred said, taking England's gun and pointing it at his own head. England wanted to glare and said that he was not afraid but his heart was beating so fast and so hard that it was hard to concentrate.

No, he did not want this. No. No. No! England threw the gun away. He was shaking and breathing hard.

Alfred stared at him for a moment, "_Arthur_…" He called softly.

England slowly looked up to him. He froze and his heart skipped a beat, he wanted to run away so badly. Blood flowed from Alfred's mouth; the flesh of his lower lips was torn. The rain was washing over his face, and small red rivers fell downwards from the injury. Alfred leaned forward. England backed away to no avail, his head hitting the wall.

England was trapped between Alfred's arms, but it was not Alfred's arms that were making him stay still. It was the copper smell of Alfred's blood invading his nostrils, the alluring texture of soft flesh, the inviting color of its red…

Alfred leaned gently forwards, his mouth close to England's. England forgot everything in an instant. His hands moved on its own accord, gripping Alfred's coat, pulling him closer. Alfred grunted as England sucked his lower lip hungrily, as he felt England's tongue running along his lips, as England nibbled the flesh, drawing more blood. England moaned as Alfred roamed with his hands his body, pressing it against his own.

Bites, and blood, and growls, and pleasure, and hate, and love, and pain mixed together into their beings. England panted, still pulling Alfred's jacket, still licking his lip, his green eyes were bathed in red. He whispered hoarsely, "_I hate_ you… I hate you _so much_…"

Alfred smiled, stealing England's breath again, kissing him tenderly, "I know my dearest, I don't mind, I love you."

England looked up to sky, "I, sometimes," Alfred said, "I wonder what color it'd be if I had a heart… I think," Alfred took England's face in his hands, licking the warm stream of tears falling from his eyes, "…the color of my heart would be gray…"

England released a shaky breath, feeling how his eyes burned, feeling how his soul cried, feeling how happy his heart was, feeling hopeless and utterly blessed at the same time.

"My dear Arthur," Alfred said, taking England's arms and wrapping them around his neck, England put his forehead on Alfred's shoulder. "Can you feel it?" Alfred kissed his ear, closely keeping him against his chest, "Yes, that feeling. That hollow in the middle of your soul - come on, don't be shy, feel it. Feel its sound, feel its power. Yes, like that. That's the proof of our bond. That's the proof of our connection. The proof of our existence. Yes, feel it spread into your veins, into your heart, into your mind… Yes, my love. Yes, here we are. You with me, forever and ever, my dearest love."

Alfred stared fondly at Arthur's black and empty eyes.

•••

_My regards to whomever this may concern,_

_I might seem ridiculous for writing a letter in this time and age, where emails are so much useful than delicate pieces of papers and ink. But somehow I feel better holding a pen rather than hitting keys on a keyboard. I am a plain old fashioned man, I may admit, not more than France though._

_Anyway, to every single one of you, without any exception, I have a favour to ask. Today is my final day here. I am leaving. I am not longer England. I am unfit. I am not longer related to you all. Forget me. Do not search for me. Do not try to find answers for why I left. Please, do not try to be a hero to seek me out (I am referring specially to you, America)._

_Think of me as if I was dead. Which for I am; indeed, I am dead. This is the last thing you shall know from me. I am sorry for all the trouble I caused these months. To my brothers, I am so sorry. Scotland, I know you do not like me to apologize but I am sorry and truly grateful for what you did for me. Even if it was all pointless in the end._

_I have caused great pain to others. I am lost and there is no place for me. I have succumbed to it, I am weak, I am pathetic and deserve to die - but Grace has no mercy for me, and I shall atone for my sins. In a way or another, I shall pay the price of it. However, I do think it is not enough…_

_One last thing, I just want to say that… I am sorry, I am not good with this kind of things…_

_I really had fun with all of you, no matter how infuriating you were and how stupid I was._

_Goodbye and thank you._

_Yours truly, Arthur._

•The End•


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